Perserverance of Honor
by Mikeala-and-Whitney
Summary: Petyr Baelish speaks on Sansa Stark's behalf.


_**Disclaimer:** Obviously I do not own anything from the book series "A Song of Ice and Fire". All I did was have an idea, and type into a fic. This is a Petyr Baelish fic actually. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this fic. It's a short fic really, though I'd love to write more fics for Petyr Baelish and other characters. If you haven't read past the first book to the book series then this would contain spoilers, just like if you haven't watched past the first season of Game of Thrones._

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Lord Baelish stood with the rest of the crowd, and watched. He saw the way the crowd said nothing, and the way they could not look away the sight before them. It was in their character to be curious; he of all people knew that. Though it did not give an excuse to Joffery Baratheon to take great pleasure in such things, not the crowd, no, but of how Sansa Stark knelt before him. Another slip of the tongue, maybe she used too many words this time or she looked at him the wrong way. Or there was also the thought of her perhaps using the incorrect tone with him—it was never quite clear with their King Joffery, protector of the realm. Though, for the moment, strangely enough Petyr felt anxious himself. He had long ago learned to settle his stomach at disturbing things, at many scenes that made the average person faint, or, perhaps even, bare their sword much like Ned Stark had.

His stare left her, to only be replaced with the image of their King, cloaked in red and gold, sitting upon his throne. The Iron Throne, where many Kings and Queens had sat, from Aegon the Conqueror, to the Usurper to…King Joffery. Petyr never thought of himself sitting upon the throne. He had heard how unpleasant it had been once for Robert Baratheon, the poor bastard had sat wrong and couldn't appropriately sit for the rest of the week, or was it longer than that? He couldn't quite remember at the moment.

"Lord Baelish, you stare." Joffery commented, his manner was calm for now. His eyes on him, and he slouched, such unfortunate posture. But Petyr Baelish smiled his smile, and nodded his head; politeness was so rarely used by some.

"I am only thinking, your grace."

"Thinking of what?" Joffery sounded impassive.

Petyr's stare had left Joffery Baratheon, to go back to the Lady Sansa, who still knelt with her back straight—perfect posture, and her eyes ahead. He felt himself hesitate, which was a rare occurrence.

"Lord Baelish." King Joffery was becoming irritated. His slump picked up, and he tilted his head.

"That perhaps it was not the Lady Sansa's fault."

"Perhaps?" Joffery had raised his eyebrows and nodded for him to continue. Petyr Baelish would keep his tongue today.

"Lady Sansa has been unwell lately." Petyr looked at him, his expression never changed. He slid his book under his arm, and took one step closer to Sansa. Varys and many others all followed his steps with their eyes, though the Spider was not as dazed by his words.

"Unwell." Joffery frowned, he too watched Petyr Baelish. His nails scratched at the arm rest for a moment, before King Joffery looked upon his lady, and then back, his expression twisting into an almost sneer.

It was as if his sudden bouts of anger had everything to do with Sansa, yet in actuality it did not. Even when his brother, Tommen had spilt the wine all over Joffery's new curtains, Sansa had been blamed. Sansa Stark was the reason for everything. Sansa Stark was no lady in King Joffery's opinion, though the King did keep up courtesies and addressed her with her proper title.

"Yes, your grace." He nodded, "Did no one share such news with you? Please, forgive me, your grace. I did not know I would the carrier of such news for you today." His smile was small, and it remained so.

"Hm." Joffery seemed to consider those words that came from Lord Baelish's mouth. A perfect liar Lord Baelish was. "Lady Sansa, have you been ill?" His gaze went to her then, and she too stared back.

"I—I have…been having trouble sleeping, your grace, headaches too." She found herself saying words she and Lord Baelish knew were untrue. Petyr praised her ability to keep up the act too, when she innocently looked down. Joffery nodded, silent at first before finally he sighed.

"Fine." He waved his hand, "Get out." He spoke to mostly Sansa, but looked at the crowd. Most scattered away, like mice, and the rest stood there innocently, unsure of what to do. Sansa Stark stood slowly, curtsying.

"Thank you, your grace." Her voice soft, head tilted down. She seemed still to wait for his punishment that lingered in the air still. Joffery still frowned but he did not look at her. Petyr's hand brushed her, a gentle touch upon the lady's shoulder then.

"My lady." He spoke as softly as she had, and nodded away. She lifted her gaze, to stare at him then at Joffery once more before she turned and walked towards the steps to leave. Petyr Baelish followed with his book in his arms. Sansa Stark was safe, and Petyr Baelish kept his tongue again.

He followed in silence behind her, and then was walking along her side instead. She didn't quite stop, but her eyes went to him, "That was quite brave of you." He spoke, breaking the silence. His book still in his arms and her expression changed to uncertainty.

"What was?" Sansa said, confused most likely on why Lord Baelish had said those things. To lie to the King…Well, lie was such a distasteful word for him really. He preferred 'predicting a possibility that may fall upon Sansa Stark's shoulders', as many were soon growing sick in King's Landing,

"For the way you stared forward, with such courage. You did not even flinch when the King condemned your father's memory." He tried his best to speak gently with her, like he might Cat. How he had missed Cat for so long, but Sansa gave him some delight in these dark days. Sansa was brave, she did not know that. But she was. She had the courage of a Stark in her, and the perseverance of a Tully.

"I—" She stopped, as did he, "I did not want my King to think me weak." She said softly, her hands together in front of her like a proper lady.

"Of course, my lady, you love him dearly. Your King."

"As do you, Lord Baelish?"

"As do I, Lady Sansa."


End file.
